


Windows into the Soul

by lesbianlyndis



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Injury, Jokes, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Recovery, yeah.....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 08:23:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14132067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianlyndis/pseuds/lesbianlyndis
Summary: Hector gets injured, and Eliwood and Lyn help him recover. Eliwood has trouble hiding his feelings, of both love and worry.





	Windows into the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> baby’s first fanfic!!!! :]  
> i’m kinda eh about it but it was fun to write and that's what really matters so

In the dead of night, when the members of Eliwood’s group are sleeping--including the lookout, who snores away on the perimeter of the camp--three suspicious figures approach their tents. Soundlessly, they pass the lookout, who doesn’t stir from his deep slumber. Typical thieves, they seek gold to line their pockets, and this group of dreaming fools will make for easy pickings.

Or so they think. As they enter a tent-- _Any tent will do_ , they decide--they make the mistake of choosing his. Like greed-blinded men seeking out a dragon’s hoard, they will have to face the dragon before making off with the gold. He awakens as they rifle through his belongings, his fight-hungry eyes latching onto them immediately. Smiling, he reaches for his axe, always within grasp. He stands, his body between them and the exit.

Loudly, he clears his throat, drawing their attention. They startle like cats, leaping away from him without a sound, unsheathing their daggers from their belts. He swings first, a mighty swing that all three of his opponents struggle to dodge. One gracelessly crashes into a cabinet, the first sound they’ve made that night. Next, they strike; without his armor to protect him, their blades scratch at his skin uninhibited. However, their blows don’t deter the man’s swinging or the excitement glowing in his eyes, as though they were hitting him with sticks. Like cowards, they quiver before this beast-like man, every swing of his axe like the fall of a guillotine.

“Is that all you got?” he mocks. Focused on the thieves before him, he doesn’t notice the presence of a fourth man from behind.

 

In the midst of his insomnia, Eliwood feels something amiss in the air. Lifting himself from his sleepless rest, he grabs his sword intuitively. As if being guided by fate, he leaves his tent and finds his way to the source of his uneasiness.

It’s as he nears Hector’s tent that he discovers the disturbance, only moments too late. He watches in despair as the axe falls across Hector’s back, his warning shout reaching his friend at the same time he’s brought to the ground. No matter how sturdy Hector is, bare skin cannot protect itself from the cruelty of an axe.

With his own sword pointed toward the enemy, he challenges the men--the shameless cowards who strike from behind, who steal in the night. They can feel the rage in his stance, and they flee, only a handful of gold in their bags. Eliwood lets them escape; he chooses tending to Hector over revenge, though their unscathed departure leaves a foul taste in his mouth.

He cradles his friend in his arms, disdained by the warm wetness he feels on Hector’s back. He struggles believing what he sees before him; if not for the blood, he may have sat stunned longer, but the urgency keeps him somewhat sensible. He calls for others in their company to awaken.

 

* * *

 

What misfortune befalls them for their healer to be away as disaster strikes. Until Serra returns, Hector will have to be treated with what they have handy.

Though the chaos of the previous night has dissipated--people rushing to and fro to find cloths to wrap Hector’s wounds, Eliwood and Lyn attempting to lift their friend to his bed with much difficulty--anxiety still nestles within Eliwood’s gut. To see his friend--his unassailable companion--bested in battle, albeit from an unhonorable blow, leaves the lord troubled. Never before did he truly consider it possible for Hector to die, but now the reality of that looms over him. While Hector has survived last night’s attack, there's nothing that can be said of future ones.

Eliwood watches from near the entrance of Hector’s tent as Lyn cleans their friend’s wound with a washcloth. As soon as Hector had woken up, Eliwood was relieved to see his friend’s personality unaffected by his situation, aside from being displeased that he wouldn’t be able to fight until recovery.

Hector, who's lying facedown on his bed, hisses in agitation as Lyn scrubs with too much force. “Watch it, will you?” he says bitingly.

“There’s no helping it,” she tells him firmly, her hands not halting. “Serra won't return for a while. You'll have to put up with the pain until we can use staves.”

Huffing, Hector turns his face toward the wall of the tent. “Surely you could be more gentle?” he grumbles. “I’d hardly call this force lady-like.”

Lyn pushes harder. “And I’d hardly call your whining lord-like!” she counters.

Hector muffles another grunt of pain.

Before Hector can retort, Eliwood cuts in. “I can take over from here, Lyndis,” the Pheraen offers, stepping forward.

Glancing at him, she sighs, releasing the stress building up within her. “That may be best. Thank you, Eliwood.” The tension in the air diffuses as she moves away from Hector. “I could use some rest.” Taking a glance at the dark circles prominently under Eliwood’s eyes, she adds, “You could, too.”

“Don't worry about it,” he assures her. “I’ll get some after I finish up here.”

The look she gives him is disbelieving, but she doesn't press further. Saying goodbye, she goes to leave.

“And don’t come back!” Hector calls after her. She turns to stick her tongue out at him as she exits.

Exhausted, Eliwood still can't tell whether his friends actually get along or not. Sometimes he feels if it wasn't for his presence, they'd bicker each other to death.

Hector’s wound was still as hideous as it was the night before. Luckily, they had experience handling injuries when no healers were present, so they had been able to diminish the bleeding before too much blood was lost. Even so, he had bled through his bandages multiple times throughout the night, though the rate of his bleeding had thankfully lessened. For weeks to come, he’d certainly have problems moving about by himself. Eliwood prayed he'd be able to return to how he was before. The few scratches he obtained from daggers would be the quickest to heal.

“Why do you have to be so difficult?” he lightly asks Hector as he sits where Lyn had been. She had discarded her rag in the washbin by the bed. Picking up another one, Eliwood gets to work.

“It’s not my fault,” Hector defends. “That woman… She doesn't know how to be gentle.”

_Not like you do, either_ , Eliwood retorts mentally. “Still,” he says, “it might be best to put up with it for a bit. It's been a rough day. For all of us.”

Hector sighs, pushing his face into his pillow. “You don't have to remind me.” As Eliwood continues washing his wound, Hector sighs, adding, “See, you're much gentler than her anyway.”

Eliwood doesn't respond. As he cleans, his eyes take in the lion tattooed into Hector’s back. A couple years prior, Hector had saved the life of an artisan, who offered to repay the Ostian with a luxurious tattoo. As expected, he thought not of his position when he accepted the offer and had a lion permanently inked into his back. While Eliwood would never do the same, he does secretly admire the craftsmanship on his friend’s skin, though with Hector’s wound slicing the design in two, there is no telling what his tattoo will look like once it heals. Absentmindedly, he traces the dark, broad strokes with his finger.

“How does it look?” Hector asks, tilting his head as best he can in Eliwood’s direction.

“Mm?”

“My tattoo. Did it survive?”

Admittedly, Eliwood didn't know enough about tattoos to say whether it’d heal back into how it used to be. “Hard to say…”

Hector groans, dropping his face back into his pillow. “Dammit,” his muffled voice swears.

“Maybe it won't be bad,” Eliwood says. “Maybe it’ll look impressive with a giant scar going through it.”

Hector sighs. “Great.”

Cleaning done, Eliwood gets new bandages to wrap around Hector’s body. He helps his friend sit up.

“Does it really look that bad?” Hector inquires once more, watching Eliwood as he begins wrapping him in gauze.

“I don’t think it looks bad,” Eliwood says honestly. “But I don’t know what will become of it. More importantly, I think your main concern should be your own recovery.”

“Bah, I’ll be fine.” Hector waves his hand dismissively.

“I hope so,” Eliwood mumbles.

Hector glares at him. “Don’t worry so much,” he scolds. “Look at me; I’m fine! As soon as this heals up, I’ll be back to fighting like usual.” After a moment’s thought, he groans. “I wonder how long that’ll take… Hey, Eliwood, don’t you start pullin’ ahead of me while I’m like this.”

Eliwood smiles weakly, his tiredness weighing him down. “Aren’t I already ahead of you?”

Hector shoves him teasingly. “Not even in your dreams!”

Laughing, Eliwood finishes with the bandaging. He inadvertently lets out a yawn as he puts the extra material away.

Hector peers at his friend’s face, frowning. “Y’know, Lyn’s right. You should get some sleep,” he says.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine,” Eliwood insists.

Hector snorts. “Hypocrite.”

“Excuse me?”

“You tell _me_ to be more concerned with _my_ self, but you won’t do the same for your own self.”

Finding himself unable to argue, Eliwood concedes. “I suppose you may have a point.”

“I do!” Hector insists. “Go to bed. I can handle it from here. Might be kinda boring, though, just lyin’ around.”

All Eliwood can do is nod. He realizes just how tired he is then, but still, he says, “If you need any help, don’t hesitate to call for me.”

“Sure thing.” Hector laughs. “If anything happens, I’ll shout your name as loud as I can until you come running.”

Eliwood smiles. “You do that.”

 

* * *

 

Though Eliwood finally finds sleep, it’s a disturbed sleep, where images from the night before dance before him tauntingly, some true, some more horrifying than the truth. He sees his friend, dying, the light leaving his eyes as he lies in his arms. Frightfully, Eliwood wakens, sweating from his nightmare. Outside his tent, the sun has almost completely set.

Wishing to ease his troubled mind, he makes his way toward Hector’s tent. Upon entering, he’s relaxes; he sees Hector sleeping peacefully, his dreams seemingly not as ghastly as Eliwood’s own. Pulling the bedside chair quietly closer, he sits at the pillow end of the bed.

Hector, who usually sleeps on his back, is now lying on his stomach to prevent his injury from ruining his sheets. His face is visible to Eliwood, his breathing audible. Eliwood decides to stay until he has fully calmed down.

Unbeknownst to him, his friend rouses and notices his intent stare. Hector reaches his hand toward Eliwood, poking him on the bridge of his nose. “Eliwood?” His voice is tired, his speech slurring together.

Startled, Eliwood pushes his hand away. “I-I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“I wasn’t. I woke up ‘cause I felt like I was bein’ watched.”

_Ah…_ “My apologies.”

Hector takes a long, deep breath through his nose. “So? Wha’d’you want?”

Eliwood doesn’t know how to respond, certain that Hector wouldn’t appreciate “to make sure you’re alive” as an answer. He isn’t aware of the grave stare he’s giving Hector, made worse by the shadows still residing beneath his eyes.

Sighing, Hector grumbles, “Stop looking at me like that,” before turning his face into his pillow.

Eliwood blinks in surprise. “How… am I looking at you?”

Hector responds, but Eliwood can’t make out his words through his pillow.

“Pardon?”

Lifting his head back up, Hector repeats, “Like I’m dying. You’re looking at me like I’m dying.”

Embarrassed, Eliwood turns his gaze to the floor. “You’re not dying.”

“I know that,” Hector says firmly. “But that’s how you’re looking at me.”

Eliwood grimaces. “Surely, I’m not. If you were dying--” Hector lets out a groan, but Eliwood continues “--my expression would look much worse. I’d most certainly be crying.”

Hector doesn’t respond at first. He meets Eliwood’s gaze then, sincerity in his blue eyes. “You look like you’re going to cry anyway,” he whispers softly.

Eliwood bites back another apology, unable to hold Hector’s stare.

“Please, Eliwood,” Hector urges. “Go back to bed. For my peace of mind and for your own.” Hector’s hand is on his arm, a small act of comfort.

“OK,” Eliwood says. “Just… give me a few more minutes.”

Closing his eyes, Hector says, “Fine. Goodnight, worry-wart.”

“Goodnight.”

He watches as Hector goes back to sleep, his eyes following the ups and downs of his back as he breathes. It calms him, acting as constant proof of his friend’s life. In those moments when Hector had fallen, he hadn’t been certain that he was alive; he had hoped, of course, and his mind couldn’t truly wrap itself around the idea of his dearest friend dying, so thankfully, he hadn't had to accept that as truth. Still, he struggles to cast the concept out of his mind, to live in the present as Hector does.

Pained, Eliwood grasps the hand that lay limply against his arm. _Hector_...

Though he’s the injured one, Hector is dealing with this situation much better than Eliwood is. Scolding himself for letting his worries get the best of him, he takes a deep breath, his gaze returning to Hector. His eyes trace the details of his face, from his jawline to the tip of his nose to his dark lashes. Something in his heart tightens as he strokes his friend’s hand with his thumb.

Oftentimes, he feels his attachment to Hector goes beyond just friendship, onesidesly so. Time after time, he crushes those thoughts before they have a chance to blossom, to become something he can’t hide anymore. Given their positions as lords, there was no future for such a relationship to flourish, even if Hector feels the same. Most importantly, he can't sacrifice his bond with Hector over something as fleeting and unpredictable as romance.

He leans forward, his forehead resting against Hector’s shoulder. “Why do you worry me so, you oaf?” he says quietly.

Hector remains undisturbed, having already fallen back asleep. Satisfied with the warmth he feels resonating from his friend--but greatly unsatisfied in his heart--Eliwood takes his leave, returning to his own tent and another restless sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next week flows smoothly, save for Eliwood’s ever-present worrying. Hector wouldn’t be so bothered by it if the Pheraen wasn’t such an open book; it seems like whenever he looks toward Eliwood, there’s always some darkness clouding his expression.

Also, it appears that Eliwood has taken it upon himself to be his primary caregiver, though Lyn still cares for him when she feels Eliwood is overworking himself--which is becoming more frequent. Hector doesn’t mind this unbalanced arrangement; he’d take Eliwood’s gloominess over Lyn’s roughness any day. Sometimes, though, the dread the Pheraen carries with him becomes a bit too much to bear, clogging up the atmosphere in Hector’s tent during his visits.

Good news is, Hector’s able to walk about more, though preferably not without someone with him--his body hurts too much for him to move around a lot by himself. So on days where Eliwood’s mood sours the room, he can simply offer that they get some air.

With Eliwood’s sorrow especially potent today, he decides to do just that. As Eliwood finishes replacing his bandages for that day, Hector pipes up. “Take me on a walk.”

Eliwood snorts. “What’re you, a dog?” Regardless, he moves to help his friend stand.

“Woof,” Hector says as he’s assisted onto his feet. Eliwood moves to get Hector’s shirt, but Hector stops him. “I got it.”

Despite his words, he has troubles getting the shirt over his head, grimacing as he lifts his arms above him. Eliwood does as little as possible, recognizing Hector’s distaste of dependency but also wanting to lessen his friend’s pain as much as he can. It’s the least he can do…

As soon as he is dressed, they leave the tent, walking the perimeter of the camp, or as much of it as Hector can manage. Hector finds that Eliwood is much easier to cheer up when they aren’t cooped up, though he does consider it curious that their roles aren’t reversed, Hector being the one with the injury and all.

He stretches his arms to the side, letting out a loud sigh. “Feels good,” Hector says. “Walkin’ around. The fresh air, the sunlight.”

Eliwood hums in agreement.

He continues, “It’s tiresome, lyin’ in bed all day. I already miss sparring.”

“You miss sparring the second it’s over,” Eliwood points out.

“You got me there.” A few moments pass, a comfortable silence. “It's a good thing I’m finally out again,” Hector repeats, glancing at a group of people further in camp. “The women’re probably sick of havin’ only your gloomy mug to look at.”

Eliwood snorts. “Oh, really?” he says, catching on to Hector’s joking tone. “And you're much better?”

“I sure am!” he says proudly. “They've certainly missed my charms.”

Eliwood can't stop himself from laughing. “You? Charming? Are you sure you weren’t struck on the head as well?”

Hector gives him an offended look, exaggerating the raise in his brow. “Harsh! And you say _my_ manners are lacking!” Hector scolds. “I’ll have you know, I’m plenty charming.”

Sure, sure,” his friend says. “Could any of the women in our company attest to that?”

“Yeah! Probably!”

Eliwood laughs at him once more. “If you say so.”

Hector huffs, but a smile is present on his face. “Man, you sure are an ass, huh?”

Stifling more laughter, Eliwood says, “Oh, Lord Hector, what charm! I’m swooning!”

At that, Hector laughs as well, loudly, finding himself needing to sit down at the toll it takes on his body. They find a spot in the shade of a nearby tent, the two of them sitting on crates of supplies.

“I feel like such an old man,” Hector admits. “Havin’ to sit down after a short walk and some laughing.”

Before Eliwood can find the words to respond, a third person joins them in the shade.

“It's good to see you out and about,” Lyn says to Hector.

“Can't say the same to you,” Hector responds teasingly.

She kicks him in the shin--hard.

“Hey!” Hector says, grunting in pain. “Aren't I already wounded enough?”

Lyn ignores him. To Eliwood, she asks, “Has he been behaving himself?”

Eliwood shrugs. “More or less.”

Pouting, Hector leans back, his hands on the crate as support. “You guys are so mean,” he whines. “I’m gonna find someone else to take care of me if this is the treatment I get.”

“Yeah? Like who?” she asks, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

Hector doesn't have an answer. “Matthew?” he says, but it sounds more like a question.

“Uh-huh. And how do you intend to get to him?” Lyn asks flatly.

A pause. He turns. “Hey, Eliwood.”

“I thought you didn't want my help anymore.”

“Never mind that for now,” Hector says. “Carry me.”

Eliwood blinks at him slowly. “Let me think about it. No.”

“You didn't--” Hector cuts himself off as he stifles a laugh “--You didn't even think about it!”

“I did,” the Pheraen says. “Just very quickly. It was an easy decision. And anyway, why would I carry you? Since when was that necessary?”

“Since this woman over here decided to assault my leg.” Hector points at Lyn with his thumb.

“I can ‘assault’ the other one, too, if you’d like,” she offers, getting into position. “I won't hold back this time.”

“You didn't hold back the last time!” Hector grumbles.

She sticks her tongue out at him, and he does the same to her. Eliwood still can't tell if they're getting along or about to lunge at each other's throats. He and Hector tease each other, but whenever the Sacaen was around, the mood always seems to get tinged with hostility.

Lyn moves to sit beside the Ostian before stopping suddenly, her face twisting in disgust as she takes a large step back. “Hector…” she says, disappointment in her eyes. “When’s the last time you bathed?”

He turns bright red. “Uh--”

“Don't tell me,” Lyn cuts him off, waving her hand. “I’ve decided I don't want to know.”

“Like it's my fault!” he defends. “It's not like I can move around by myself. Look at Eliwood.”

_Tsk_ ing at Hector, she places her hand delicately on Eliwood’s shoulder. “Blaming others for your problems, how shameful, Hector!” To Eliwood, she adds, “It must be so difficult, breathing in his stench every day.”

Eliwood muffles a laugh with his hand. “Yes, quite. It's unbearable. Lately, I grow faint just thinking about it.”

Lyn giggles.

Hector looks betrayed. “Not you, too, El…”

Eliwood didn't want to admit to Lyn that, honestly, he hadn't noticed Hector’s odor until that moment. From their many spars where they'd spend hours on end blade to blade, he'd grown accustomed to it. Though now that he thinks about it, Hector has grown rather foul…

Lyn’s attention is drawn by Florina, and she says her goodbyes to the lords before running to the pegasus knight.

Nudging his friend sympathetically, Eliwood says, “I’ll take you to the bath.”

“Hmph. You sure you won't faint on the way there?”

_Someone's grouchy_ , Eliwood notes. “I’m sure you'll catch me if I do.”

Hector scoffs. “I’m sure I'll crush you beneath me! I’m the one that needs supporting here.”

He’s joking, but Eliwood notices that his friend has grown tired as he helps Hector up. It seems he will actually need a shoulder to rest on as they make their way to the bathing area. As they begin their walk, friend leaning on friend, a thought comes to Eliwood.

“So, Hector,” Eliwood says, grinning, “do you think she found you charming?”

Grimacing, Hector replies, “Drop it, man.”

“Oh? Drop it?” Eliwood loosens his grip on the Ostian.

“No, wait--”

“If that's what you want, then I’ll just--”

“Eliwood, no! Eliwood--” Hector grabs at his friend “--if you drop me, you’ll regret it!”

Eliwood snickers, but he keeps his hold on Hector. “OK, OK… Wouldn't want to get on your bad side.”

Hector snorts. “If that's your aim, I’ve got some news for you…”

“Hm, what was that?” Eliwood teases. “You're saying you _do_ want to be dropped after all?”

“No!” Hector laughs, clinging to Eliwood. “Lord Eliwood, please, have mercy! Forgive me!”

They laugh all the way to the bath.

 

Their group’s bath, located in two tents--one for women, one for men--at the center of camp, isn’t much of a bath at all; it has buckets of water for washing, a makeshift tub for relaxing, and various towels and soaps for cleaning, but little else. Since their group values mobility, it would be wasteful to build a quality bath, for they would have to leave it sooner or later, so this is what they settled on. The ground in the tent is smooth stone. There are robes for bath-goers hanging by the doorway.

As it is a relatively busy time of day for the members of their group, Hector and Eliwood find themselves alone in the men’s bath tent. Hector seats himself on a stool by a water-filled bucket. Eliwood stands awkwardly by the entrance.

Lifting his arms up, Hector starts removing his shirt only to find it too painful. He lowers his arms, groaning slightly, and Eliwood approaches him, concerned. It seems like his friend has reached his limit for the day.

“Are you OK?” Eliwood asks.

“I can manage.” However, Hector doesn’t move to make another attempt. His eyes are unfocused as he faces the wall of the tent.

Eliwood hesitates. Holding back a sigh, he reaches toward Hector’s shirt, grasping the blue cloth.

Hector opens his mouth to protest but holds his tongue upon seeing Eliwood’s face. His eyes--saddened in a way that tightens Hector’s throat--say, “Let me help you”; his hands--calloused, yet gentle--whisper, “Please,” as they grasp his shirt. Hector, who desires solitude in his vulnerability more than anything else, still can’t find it in himself to push his dear friend away. Cooperatively, he raises his arms above his head once more, bearing the pain. Slowly, carefully, Eliwood pulls the fabric upward, slipping it off his arms.

Beneath his shirt is proof of the day’s strain on Hector’s body; his bandages have become dirtied once again, but not enough to cause concern. Eliwood silently thanks his past self for bringing supplies with him on their walk-- _just in case_. He’ll apply new bandages once Hector is clean. Eliwood removes Hector’s current wrappings and waits, placing the used bandages in a waste bin.

As Hector removes his pants unassisted, Eliwood finds himself not knowing what to do. The details of taking Hector to the bath didn’t hit him until this moment. Watching a man--not just any man, but _the_ man that fills Eliwood’s mind those abundant nights he cannot sleep--while he bathes… is a little weird, but it’s not like Eliwood’s going to leave Hector unsupervised after all the difficulties he’s been having. The Pheraen supposes, briefly, that he _could_ wait right outside the tent and only enter when Hector calls for him, but in the case of an--albeit unlikely--emergency, Eliwood would prefer to be as readily available as possible. He swallows as Hector’s pants slip further down.

Hector also finds himself feeling awkward. “Aren’t you gonna wash, too?” he asks his friend after a moment, noting how he freezes. “Or are you just gonna--” he gives Eliwood a once-over “--stand there?”

“I’m fine.” Eliwood stays where he is, but his eyes suddenly can’t look toward Hector. “I washed this morning.”

_Fair enough_. “Then at least get undressed.”

Taken by surprise, Eliwood chokes on air. “E-excuse me?”

“Do you know how embarrassing it is,” Hector explains, “to be the only one in his boxers right now? Strip, or I’ll do it for you!”

Before he can decide whether his friend’s threat is serious, Hector swiftly grabs for his shirt, pulling upward. Yelping in surprise, Eliwood stumbles and slips forward, twisting midair so he lands on his ass, his head and arms tangled in his shirt that’s halfway on, halfway off.

“Hector,” he groans in pain and annoyance.

Hector can’t hear him; he’s laughing the hardest he has all day, leaning against the wall behind him, his eyes watering. “You look… _so_ stupid.”

“ _Hector_ ,” Eliwood says louder. “Help me out of this.”

“I… I can’t,” Hector huffs between laughs, his sides hurting. “This’s too good.”

Eliwood battles to remove his shirt the rest of the way and, emerging victorious, chucks it at Hector’s face. “Asshole.”

Even with Eliwood’s shirt covering his face, Hector’s good mood doesn’t dissipate. “You know you love me,” he says as he tosses the shirt into the pile of his own discarded clothing.

Eliwood doesn’t respond. Instead, he sits on a stool and faces away from Hector, beginning to remove his pants. Behind him, he hears a splash of water as Hector dips a towel into the soapy bucket. He washes his body in silence.

A few minutes pass, Eliwood calming himself by tracing the ridges in the stone floor with his feet, Hector scrubbing away at the filth on his body.

There's a wet _splap_ against his arm as Hector hands him a different towel. “Wash my back,” Hector says.

Eliwood is used to his friend demanding things as opposed to asking, so he’s unbothered as he turns to oblige, grabbing the offered towel.

Hector’s wound has visibly become smaller, but the bruising around it is much worse. The lion on Hector’s back is blotched with purple, and Eliwood finds himself hesitant to touch it with the scratchy towel. Though he has been cleaning Hector’s wound regularly, the anxiety of doing something wrong, of harming Hector more than he already is, is still present. He cannot fathom how his friend puts up with the pressure, even given that Eliwood is gentle.

As he gets situated behind Hector, the smell of the soap--some sort of floral scent--hits his nose. Amused, he decides the scent is unbefitting someone like Hector.

After a short moment, he takes the soap-dripping towel and presses it to his friend’s skin. He scrubs as carefully as he can, making sure Hector feels as little discomfort as possible in the process. Hector doesn’t give him any indication of whether it hurts or not; Eliwood keeps cleaning.

The Ostian’s back--broad shoulders, muscles firmly present even through the towel, glistening wet and soapy--is impressive to Eliwood, intimidating. Due to their current ongoing situation, Eliwood has had time to become more acquainted with this part of Hector, though he hasn’t really been trying to. Not that he minds, either. If only the circumstances could be different, where Hector wasn’t bruised and bloodied, and they could--

Eliwood shakes his head, dispelling the thoughts before they could lead somewhere else, somewhere they're not allowed. He needs to focus. He needs to be Hector’s friend--nothing more. As he distracts himself by locking his eyes on the lion, a thoughtless question slips from his mouth.

“What tattoo would suit me?”

Hector, who’s cleaning his legs as lazily as he can, pauses. “A tattoo?” He mulls over the question, odd coming from his friend’s mouth. “You don’t seem like the kinda guy that’d get a tattoo,” he admits.

“Hypothetically,” Eliwood presses.

“Hypothetically…” Hector struggles to think of an answer.

“Yeah, like,” Eliwood prompts, “what kind of things do you think of when you think of me?”

Hector hums. “What kind of things do I think of,” he repeats thoughtfully, “when I think of you.”

Eliwood is pleased that Hector seems to be considering the answer seriously. He doesn’t have a goal with asking, and it’s doubtful he’d ever get a tattoo, but he wants to fill the air with something beside his imagination.

Hector snorts, and his shoulders start quivering from held-back laughter. “I think,” he starts, his voice shaking, “of you falling over with your shirt--” he cuts off, choked by laughter as he tries to demonstrate, lifting his arms upward, how Eliwood had been tangled together.

Unamused, Eliwood flicks Hector’s shoulder with his finger. “That’s not an answer.”

“Right, right, sorry.” His voice is shaken by restrained laughter. He lowers his arms.

Though Eliwood can’t see his face, he doubts Hector looks sorry at all.

They return to their cleaning, Eliwood’s question still hanging in Hector’s mind. He speaks up once more. “Kindness.” A pause. “Chivalry. Responsibility. Y’know, El, for best friends, we really are quite different.” He tilts his head to the side, trying to look at Eliwood.

Eliwood nods, though Hector can’t turn his head far enough to see.

“Even though you’d rather not fight,” he continues, “you hold your own in battle. You’ve even beaten me thirteen times--”

“Fourteen.”

“Fourteen times. And there’s something about standing, with you, on the battlefield that’s really--” he tries to think of the right word “--invigorating.” He pauses again, playing back his response. “Does that answer your question?”

Eliwood blinks. “To be honest, I was expecting something like, a wolf, you know?” he says. “But I accept your answer.”

Hector grins.

“Even though you can’t really get a kindness tattoo,” Eliwood says.

“Maybe that’s why a tattoo wouldn’t suit you,” he points out.

Eliwood smiles, too. “Maybe.”

They return to a comfortable quiet, washing and rinsing Hector until he’s clean and smells curiously of flowers.

Upon completing his task, Eliwood wrings the water out of the towel, dripping it over the bucket. “There. Can you handle the rest by yourself?”

Hector, having finished as well, tosses his towel into the bucket closer to him, the water splashing onto Eliwood’s legs. “Wash my hair for me.”

Taking one look at Hector’s shiny hair, he says, “I think I’ll pass.”

Turning around, Hector shoots him a curious look. “Why?”

Eliwood grimaces. “It’s dirty…”

“That’s why I asked you to wash it,” he states. “Wash my hair.”

“ _No_ ,” Eliwood says again, his pitch going up. “I don’t want to touch your greasy hair.”

“ _Eliwood_ ,” Hector whines. “I can't do it myself. It hurts for me to hold my arms up like that for too long.”

_Why is he such a baby?_ Glancing around, Eliwood’s eyes land on the bucket by Hector’s feet. “Dunk your head in the water, then,” he says.

He means it as a joke, so he’s slightly concerned by the look on Hector’s face, like he’s genuinely considering it.

“Please don’t actually do that,” he says, his voice tired.

“Wait, Eliwood,” Hector insists. “You might be onto something.”

Moving the bucket out of Hector’s reach with his foot, he says, “I can assure you that I’m not.”

Grumbling, the Ostian crosses his arms. “OK. How about, I dump water on my head, and then you wash my kinda-clean, kinda-not hair?” he offers. “Does that work?”

Eliwood stares at him. “I mean,” he says, conceding that his hair wouldn’t feel as greasy though he still wouldn’t deem it ‘kinda clean,’ “I guess.”

Hector smiles in victory. Eliwood considers rescinding his offer, but his companion has already dumped a bucketful of soapy water over his head, so there’s no going back now.

Eliwood, who just had a lot of water mistakenly dumped on his legs, soaps up his hands. “You’re a real handful, you know?”

“Good.”

Eliwood doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean. He ignores him. Standing, he walks behind Hector to wash his hair from there, bringing his hands to his friend’s head. All soapy, he admittedly can’t feel the greasiness of Hector’s hair. In fact, he even finds himself enjoying this opportunity, the deep blue strands slipping between his fingers, his hands caressing Hector’s scalp. He washes, he rinses, cupping water into his hands and drizzling it over Hector’s hair to slide the soap out. Finished, he goes to grab towels.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Hector says as Eliwood returns, dry towels in hand. “I can just let it air-dry.”

Lightly tossing one of the towels into Hector’s face, Eliwood says, “No. We can’t have your bandages getting wet.” He starts drying Hector’s hair with the other towel, faintly brushing against the bruised skin.

Obediently, Hector dries his body. They’re silent as they dry and silent as Eliwood gathers the bandages from his discarded clothing. The sight of Hector’s wound weighs heavy on his mind as he stands behind his friend once more. As he brings the bandage around the front of Hector’s body, he is unaware of the expression he wears on his face. Hector notices it easily and feels his gut tighten. Without thinking about it, Hector brings his hand to Eliwood’s face and tilts it toward his own. Eliwood’s breath hitches.

“Why do you look at me like that,” he asks, his face reflecting Eliwood’s sadness.

Eliwood finds himself unable to speak. Moments pass while he gathers himself, his hands ceasing in their wrapping. “Like what?” he asks, his voice a breathless whisper. He mentally repeats to himself to _stare Hector in the eyes, stare Hector in the eyes, don’t you_ dare _look at his lips_.

Deliberating, Hector looks intently at Eliwood. “I’m not sure,” he says finally. “Kinda like you’ve lost something. It’s really depressing.”

Certain that his face is bright red, Eliwood finds his voice. “Can--” he swallows “--I finish what I was doing?” He tugs on the bandages to specify.

Something--some unreadable thought--flashes through Hector’s eyes. “OK,” he sighs. He doesn’t notice how his hand lingers on Eliwood’s face, but Eliwood is intensely aware of it, wanting to both pull away and lean into it.

With enough willpower, he turns his head away, going back to wrapping Hector, the mood polar opposite to what it had been earlier. Mind racing, he feels like he should say something to fill the air, to depollute the atmosphere around them, but his thoughts are too jumbled to form a coherent sentence. His open-book eyes have betrayed his private feelings once again.

It’s Hector who breaks the quiet. “This’ll all be over soon,” he says, low enough that Eliwood wonders for a moment if it’s directed at him at all. “I’ll be healed,” he continues, blue stare pointing toward the Pheraen, “and I’ll go back to how I used to be. So you can relax. I’m fine--I promise.”

Eliwood knows this, yet still, he worries, and he regrets not going to Hector sooner on that night, to prevent his suffering since the start. Even stronger, a part of him wonders if--during this emotional situation--his inclinations toward Hector are becoming stronger. That seems especially probable as he considers their current state--two guys, alone, in the bath, in their underwear, touching each other. He finds it hard not to get carried away in such a scene, mentally. And, even if Hector returns to normal, Eliwood wonders if he, himself, will be able to as well. A part of him hopes so. Another part of him can’t stop staring at the muscles of Hector’s arms, hypnotized by their subtle movements.

Realizing he should acknowledge his friend’s statement, he says, “Alright. I’m sorry for troubling you.”

“Don’t be,” Hector sighs. “I’m not blaming you for anything. All we can do now is move forward.” He smiles. “Though I suppose you’ll have to do most of the moving for us.”

Eliwood lightly hits Hector’s forehead with the back of his hand. “Not funny.”

“It’s kinda funny.”

“Not to me.”

Hector can’t argue with that. “Anyway, let’s get out of here. I’m gettin’ cold.”

Donning the bath robes and carrying their dirty clothes with them, they make their way back to Hector’s tent the way they entered--friend leaning on friend.

 

* * *

 

The next day, a weary-eyed Eliwood enters Hector’s tent to find Lyn already there, excitedly talking to a just-woken-up-and-can’t-keep-up-with-her Hector. It’s nearing evening, but Hector’s sleep schedule is constantly changing since he’s in bed for most of the day as of late, so it’s not unusual to find him sleeping at this time. His eyes squint at the light sneaking into the tent from behind Eliwood. Courteously, Eliwood pulls the flap of the entrance closed and steps further in.

“What’s going on?” he asks Lyn.

“Eliwood!” Lyn says, turning her excitement to him. “Good news! Or I suppose it’s just ‘news’ right now since I don’t know how good it’ll actually end up being, but it’s not bad news at all so don’t worry about that, but…”

She continues to ramble on as Eliwood stares at her blankly. His countless nights of insomnia catch up to him then as he realizes he’s too tired to understand a damn thing she’s saying.

“Lyndis,” he says, cutting her off. “What?”

Brushing a lock of hair behind her ears, she says, “I’ll get to the point.” She lifts up a bowl she’s carrying and shows the contents to Eliwood. “Yesterday, Florina and I finished gathering ingredients for this lotion I used to watch my dad make. It’s supposed to help with the healing process of wounds.”

Eliwood nods, taking the bowl from her to look at it closer. “And that’s what this is?”

“Yes!” She claps her hands together. “Or at least, that’s what it’s supposed to be… I can’t be certain that I remembered exactly how he made it…”

Eliwood smiles at her. “That’s perfectly fine. Thank you, Lynd--”

A loud snore comes from Hector then, breaking apart their conversation. It appears he’s fallen back asleep.

The Pheraen approaches the bed. “I can take it from here,” he assures Lyn--who wouldn’t normally stop in at this time--as he sits in the bedside chair.

She hesitates. “Are you sure? You’ve been pushing yourself a lot lately. I wouldn’t mind taking on more shifts.”

“I’m certain,” he says, though the bags under his eyes tell a different story.

Lyn crosses her arms. The look she gives him tells him she doesn’t believe him at all.

“I-it’s just rubbing lotion on his back, yeah?” Eliwood fumbles for words to ease her mind. “I can do that. And then I’ll go back to my own tent and rest. OK?”

Lyn stares at him for a few more seconds, calculating. She sighs, uncrossing her arms. “OK. But you better go straight to bed right after. I have no qualms with tying you to your bed to make you rest.”

Eliwood gulps. “I understand.”

“Good.” With that, she turns to leave, her ponytail swaying as she does.

_Scary_ , he thinks as he stares at where she left. He knows that her words come from a place of compassion, but he also has no doubt that she will follow through with her promise if he doesn’t keep his.

He sets the bowl down on the bed stand. Hector, who’s sleeping on his front, has been difficult to wake up lately due to the toll his recovery is taking on his body. However, after some poking, gentle pushing, and repeating of his name, Hector’s eyes lazily open and peer at Eliwood.

“G’mornin’,” Hector mumbles.

Eliwood wonders if he really thinks it’s morning or if he’s just saying it. “Morning,” Eliwood replies.

“‘S it time for my bandage stuff?” he asks, voice exhausted, words coming out slowly.

“Yeah,” Eliwood answers. “And actually, Lyndis left this lotion with us for your injury.”

Hector stares at him with one eye, the other one closed as it’s pressed against his pillow. “Lotion?”

“It’s apparently something her father used to make, though she said she can't guarantee if she made it right,” Eliwood explains. “I suppose it’s infused with medicine in some way--I think that--”

Hector puts his hand on Eliwood’s mouth, effectively shutting him up. “Explain it,” he says, his face mushed against his pillow, “with less words.”

Eliwood pushes his hand away. Flatly, he says, “Lotion make back feel good.”

“Ohhhh,” Hector says, smiling faintly. “Hector like back feel good. Put it on me.”

After pulling back Hector’s blanket, taking off his shirt, and removing his bandages, Eliwood is ready to start applying the lotion. Sleepily, Hector returns to lying on his front, waiting. Eliwood hesitates, his lotion-covered hands hovering over his friend’s bare skin. Prior to this, he had only used towels to clean Hector, but lotion was best when applied skin to skin, so he had no other choice but to use his hands alone.

Not wanting to make Hector wait, he brings his hands to the middle of his back. His hands slide easily across his skin, going down his spine and then up to his shoulder blades, where the head of the lion is inked, the ridges of his friend’s injury present beneath his touch. Eliwood tries to rein in his mind from getting carried away as he explores the topography of Hector's back.

A pleased sigh comes from Hector. “Shit,” he says. “That _is_ nice.”

Feeling his face heat up, Eliwood is thankful that Hector can’t see him, as the Ostian’s eyes are closed once again.

He makes sure he’s thorough in his work, evenly spreading the lotion across his friend’s bruised skin, pushing the lotion into him while making sure not to use too much force. As he nears finishing, Hector speaks up.

“Lower,” he whispers, his voice relaxed.

Abiding, Eliwood asks, “Am I massaging you now?” He intended to finish this task quickly, to lessen his embarrassment, but Hector isn’t letting him.

“Why not?” the man beneath him replies. “You’re good with your hands. Might as well put them to use.” An intake of breath. “ _There_ ,” he sighs as Eliwood’s hands cross their destination. “Push harder.”

Eliwood obliges, his mind burning. His plight to not get mentally carried away is failing, carving this scene into his memory. They’re hyper-aware of each other now, Hector greatly enjoying the press of Eliwood’s hands against his back, Eliwood relishing the sight, the feel, the sound of his friend in front of him, more than a friend should. He wishes he could touch Hector the way he wants to--uninhibited, freely roaming every curve, every crevice, every muscle to his heart’s desire--but he can’t.

“You’re going to be really disappointed when you heal,” Eliwood says, “and I won’t pamper you like this anymore.” Despite his words--which seemingly blame the other man for this situation regardless of Eliwood’s own strengthening desire to touch Hector in these ways and more--he knows he’s the one that’s going to be the most disappointed.

“You think I’m gonna let you stop?” Hector retorts, eyes still closed. He hasn’t opened them this whole time.

Eliwood shakes his head, defeated. “Lyndis had the right idea,” he decides. “I should’ve been rougher with you so you wouldn’t make me into your personal masseur.”

Hector laughs; Eliwood can feel the vibrations beneath his hands. “You don’t have it in you,” he taunts. “Softie.”

Eliwood doesn’t respond. He’s smiling, but the words stir a sorrow within him that he cannot name. Or maybe it’s not the words but the whole situation--him, having Hector, intimately but never in the kind of intimacy he yearns for--that twists his heart.

It’s later, when he’s re-bandaging Hector’s wound, that his emotional state disastrously combines with his lack of sleep, and the first tears creep out, dripping onto the freshly-wrapped bandages. He notices the drops forming on the cloth before he even realizes he’s crying. Voice choked, he leans away from Hector, legs pulling up toward his chest. One hand grasps the sheets on the bed, the other one covers his mouth as he muffles his sounds, urging his tears to cease.

_Why this?_ he scolds himself, trying to regain control. _Why now?_

Hector says something, but Eliwood cannot hear him, not even realizing he has spoken. It’s then that Hector senses the disturbed air, turning to see his friend soundlessly crying, hand over mouth, eyes pinched shut as he curls up in the bedside chair.

“Eliwood…” Hector whispers, those words also going unheard by the Pheraen. All he can do in these moments is extend his hand, grabbing onto what he can reach of Eliwood--his hand, still clasping the sheets--and turn his head toward the wall, away from him, to give his friend some semblance of privacy.

Eliwood feels Hector’s hand on his, and his crying worsens. The last thing he wants to do is drag his friend into his tumultuous emotions, but it appears it’s too late for that. Biting his lip as last resort to keep his sobs at bay, he takes Hector’s offered hand in his own. He feels it squeeze him in response. It’s like a lifeline, holding him to this moment; a reminder, saying, “I’m here. I’m not going to leave you alone. I’m breathing; I’m warm. I’m _here_.” Eliwood hates that he’s the one being comforted, as usual, when it’s Hector who he’s supposed to be caring for.

Like that--Eliwood in the chair, Hector in the bed, their hands connecting them like knots tying two strings tightly together--they fall into an uneasy slumber, their exhaustion lulling them to sleep.

Hours pass. Eliwood has drifted so his head lays on Hector’s arm, their hands still clasped, though loosely now. It’s as he mumbles in his sleep, his lips moving against Hector’s skin, that Hector awakens, slowly, noticing the position of his companion, whose body is still in the chair. Frowning, he retracts his hand--sweaty now from being in Eliwood’s for so long--and brings it to his friend’s face, dislodging his arm from beneath the Pheraen in the process so his head now rests on the space beside Hector on the bed. Rolling so he’s on his side, facing Eliwood, he brushes his thumb across Eliwood’s cheek, under his eye. “Get up, you doof,” he murmurs.

A light sleeper, Eliwood is easy to rouse. Drowsy, not collected mentally, he blinks slowly at Hector, who tugs on his arm.

“C’mere,” Hector says, voice low. “You’re gonna get all cramped up sleepin’ like that.”

Eliwood, who doesn’t have the sense to reject his offer and is driven solely by the promise of sleep and warmth, allows himself to be guided by Hector’s pull, sliding into bed beside the Ostian.

Hector looks at the man before him, taking in his tired eyes still red from that evening’s crying, the way he clings to Hector’s hand even after settling in beside him, the long breath he lets out through his nose as he curls beneath the blanket. Even after sleep, his brow is furrowed, his stress like a permanent feature of his face.

Noticing this, Hector pokes the space between Eliwood’s eyebrows. “Stop worrying about me,” he whispers.

Yawning, the Pheraen pokes Hector in the same spot like it is a normal thing to do. “Stop making me worry.” His voice is tired, quiet. Hector can barely hear him.

“I’m not,” Hector says. “Or at least not so much that you should cry about it.”

Eliwood seems more awake then, just barely so, as he remembers. “It’s nothing. Don’t think about it.”

“That should be my line,” Hector retorts. His stare is intense; Eliwood can’t meet it.

Nor can he think of a response. “Yeah,” he says finally.

Hector takes a deep breath. “You’re no fair, you know?” he accuses, though his voice is still soft, comforting, like his touch against Eliwood’s skin. “You worry so much about me that you cry, but you won’t let me worry about you.”

There’s a long pause between them. In the shadows of the night, Hector can't tell if his friend has fallen back asleep.

Eliwood speaks up. “It's not…” he pauses. “There’s… been a lot on my mind…”

Hector runs his hand through Eliwood’s hair. “I know,” he says. “Too much, if you ask me.”

“Yeah…”

They stay like that, with Hector’s fingers moving through Eliwood’s hair. The motions and the warmth of Hector’s body soothe Eliwood to sleep once again. Sleep--something so fleeting to the insomnia-suffering lord, yet something he can find so easily in Hector’s presence. They both have the best sleep they’ve had in a long time, in each other’s arms.

 

* * *

 

Morning comes. Lyn, true to her word, peeks inside Eliwood’s tent to see if he’s getting sleep. Displeased with what she finds there--an empty, cold bed--she heads toward Hector’s tent, ready to give Eliwood an earful for staying up all night. She wonders, briefly, if anyone has any rope she can borrow.

However, upon entering, her plans are scrapped. Clearly, Eliwood has finally gotten some rest, though in a rather curious place. He’s curled on his side next to Hector, the blankets moving to rest by their knees sometime in the night. Hector, who doesn’t naturally sleep on his stomach, has returned to sleeping on his back, his arm the only uncomfortable looking thing about him, as Eliwood is clinging onto it like it was his teddy bear for the night.

Lyn doesn’t know how to react. Tentatively, she approaches the bed to look closer. Part of her wants to laugh, another part finds the scene rather endearing. She doesn’t have much longer to ponder over it, however, because her presence rouses Hector. He blinks at her, and they lock eyes. He nods at her in greeting.

“I would change your bandages,” she whispers so as not to wake the sleeping Eliwood, “but I don’t want to disturb him.”

Hector grunts in agreement. “I can’t feel my arm,” he realizes aloud, giving the perpetrator--who’s soundlessly clinging to it, placing the weight of his body upon it--a glare.

Lyn smiles, taking a seat in the chair beside the bed. “Has he been sleeping long?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Hector says, uncomfortably trying to readjust his arm without waking the other man. “All night.” He gives up, letting his arm go lax.

Impressed, Lyn nods her head; Eliwood never sleeps the whole night. “So you have your uses after all,” she says, smirking.

Hector turns his glare to her. “At least that makes one of us.”

“I’m useful!” she claims, crossing her legs. “How was the lotion yesterday?”

Silence. Hector can neither admit it was useful nor lie, the latter of which he knows may result in her taking the remainder of the lotion away.

Lyn won’t let him get away with not responding. “If it didn't help, I can always take it ba--”

“There’s no need to do that,” he grumbles quickly.

“But if it’s no good, there’s no reason to--”

“It’s,” he says, louder than he intends, “not that it’s no good…”

Lyn is waiting, smugly looking at the prideful man struggling before her.

He wishes she didn’t look so pleased about his discomfort. “Are you satisfied yet?”

“I wanna hear you say it,” she says, a big grin on her face. “In detail.”

Sighing a long, will-inducing sigh, he gives in. “The lotion was so _fucking_ good,” he says, “I almost went to heaven as soon as it touched me.”

She laughs so loud she has to quickly cover her mouth, remembering the sleeping man in the room. Luckily for her, Eliwood doesn’t stir, but he does mumble something incomprehensible in his sleep. They both sit in silence as he does so, watching him as he digs his nose deeper into Hector’s arm.

“He’s kinda cute like that,” Lyn comments, peering at the Pheraen’s face.

“Sure,” Hector says. “Probably be cuter if he wasn’t droolin’ all over my arm.”

Lyn giggles. “Good job, Eliwood!” she congratulates in a whisper. “Drool more!”

“ _No!”_ Hector says, voice as quiet as hers. “Don't encourage him! He's being a very bad Eliwood!”

Even whispered, their conversation finally wakes the light sleeper, who's very confused as to why he's a “bad Eliwood.” He becomes immediately aware of his position--lying down, in close proximity to Hector, on the same bed, Hector’s smell filling his nose. Embarrassed, he cannot recall quite how he ended up in the bed; last he remembered, he was in the chair. As he’s faced with Hector’s chest--which is only covered partially by his bandages--he realizes that he never helped Hector put his shirt back on. He doesn’t know if he should curse his past self or thank him.

Lyn’s hand rests on the edge of the bed. “You know, lately,” she says, her voice taking on a more serious tone, “Eliwood’s been really worrying me.”

Hector grunts in agreement.

Eliwood doesn't know how to feel about waking up to this kind of discussion, but he does know he’d feel awkward making it known he can hear them, so he stays still while they talk. Neither of them seem to notice that he's awake.

“I feel like,” she continues, considering her words, “he's placing too much of the… responsibility, for what happened that night, onto himself.” She lets her statement hang in the air for a moment. “And it's manifesting by him working himself to death over you.”

Eliwood would wince if he wasn't trying so hard not to move.

“Damn,” Hector says. “You've thought a lot about this.”

Lyn nods. “He's my friend,” she explains. “And so are you. Lately, there's been so much to worry about. But Eliwood, he doesn't get any sleep, he doesn't get all his meals… He's not taking care of himself at all.”

“And,” Hector adds, “he doesn't let anyone worry about him.”

“ _Exactly!”_ she says. Then, quieter, “Exactly. Even though he's taking this the worst out of all of us.” With a glance at Hector’s condition, she adds, “No offense.”

“None taken.”

Eliwood really wishes he was still asleep. Or that his friends would choose a better location to rant about him than over his “sleeping” form.

Lyn sniffs, and Eliwood realizes in a way that makes him mad at himself that she's holding back tears. He can't see her eyes, but he decides he doesn't want to see the kind of expression he's making her wear.

“Don't cry,” Hector says. “You know I don't know what to do when people cry.”

“You don't know what to do ever,” she retorts. “You just know how to be a human-shaped pillow.”

Hector takes a stifling breath. “Don't… make me want to laugh while you're about to cry. Then I’d feel like an asshole.”

She gives him a baffled look. “You are an asshole!” she says, her voice raised.

“Shh.” Hector holds a finger to his lips, smiling.

“Right,” Lyn says, her voice back to a whisper. Sighing, her hand rubbing at her face, she decides, “I’m gonna get going. Focus on other things.” As she stands, she adds, “It was good, to talk about this, though. Thank you.”

Hector waves her off. “Get outta here.”

She smiles. “Goodbye to you, too.” With that, she leaves.

A few seconds pass. Eliwood doesn't know how he's going to pretend to wake up.

As he's thinking, Hector--who turns so he’s almost on his side, facing Eliwood without disturbing him--brushes strands of hair out of Eliwood’s eyes with his free hand. “I know you're awake,” he says.

Eliwood freezes, his act pointless. “When… did you find out?” he asks, self conscious, finally opening his eyes to look at his friend. He decides that, while the conversation wasn't a good thing to wake up to or experience at all, really, he wouldn't mind waking up to this view every morning, with Hector’s face and body so close to his own, his friend’s fingertips brushing against Eliwood’s forehead.

“Just for a little,” he says. “Since your breathing changed.”

Eliwood doesn't know when that would be. “Did Lyndis notice, you think?”

Shaking his head, Hector says, “I only noticed ‘cause you’re kinda lyin’ on top of me. She was probably too focused on other things to catch on.”

Eliwood nods, his expression sour. “Do you and Lyndis often talk about me like that?” he asks, though not in an accusatory way; he's simply curious, a guilty tug on his heart.

“Of course,” Hector says, not missing a beat. “It's the only topic we get along on.”

Eliwood cannot tell if that's a joke. He stares at Hector curiously. “Seriously?”

Hector smiles. “Maybe,” he says, his voice teasing.

“You're kidding, right?” the Pheraen asks once more, not sure what to believe. “You must be.”

“Who’s to say?” Hector sticks his tongue out at Eliwood.

“You're an ass.”

“At least I don't make girls cry,” Hector retorts.

Eliwood winces. Despite the Ostian’s smile, Eliwood can tell he's upset with him.

Hector has more to say. “You didn't tell me you were skipping meals.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Eliwood says, “I didn't tell Lyndis, either. I’m surprised she noticed.”

“She catches onto that kinda thing really easily.”

“Yeah, I know, it's just,” Eliwood fumbles with his words. “ _I_ didn't even notice, so…”

Hector pauses, staring at him in surprise. “ _Eliwood_ …” His voice is pained; Eliwood doesn't want to hear him like that, to know that he sounds like that because of Eliwood. “What's going on? What's got you so worried that it, it’s… _doing this_ to you?”

He can't meet Hector’s gaze.

“Is my injury worrying you that much?”

“It's not your injury,” Eliwood whispers, realizing a second late that he’s being too honest.

“It's not my injury?” The other man blinks a few times. “What the hell else is it then?”

Eliwood opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, seconds passing between them. “Well, it _is_ your injury it’s just, there’s--” he glances around, trying to think of an excuse-- “something else, too.” He sighs, mind racing at such a speed he can’t make sense of his own thoughts. “Let’s talk about this some other time…” he says weakly, trying to back away, out of bed and the situation.

Hector wraps his arms around him, not letting him go. “Like when? You know you're not gonna talk about this unless I make you,” he accuses. “Let's talk about this now.”

Eliwood falters. “I-it’s not that big--”

“If you _dare_ say ‘it’s not that big a deal,’ I’m gonna be really pissed off,” Hector cuts him off. “If it’s makin’ you lose sleep-- _more_ sleep, than usual--and it’s makin’ you not eat, makin’ your friends worry… I’d say it’s a pretty big deal.”

He can’t argue with that. “Please, Hector,” he begs instead. “Let me go.”

Hector stares at him. His grip doesn’t slacken.

“I’ll tell you later,” he compromises, though he isn’t sure he can keep his word. “I just… need time… to gather my thoughts.”

Hector purses his lips. “Promise?”

Eliwood nods, eyes locked on Hector’s collarbone. “Promise.”

Hector sighs, the air hitting Eliwood’s hair. “Fine,” he says, loosening his grip. “When you come back tonight, you’ll tell me then. No runnin’ away.”

Eliwood gulps, slipping out of bed. “OK.”

Since Lyn is already gone, he changes Hector’s bandages--the fastest and sloppiest he has yet--and leaves, his thoughts jumbled as he exits the tent. _Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot_ , he thinks as he walks. _How are you getting out of this now?_ He has no intention of telling Hector the truth--that his emotional mess of a self lately is heavily influenced by his unrequited feelings for the Ostian, and most specifically, the fact that their positions as a lords prevent him from acting on said feelings. But he doesn’t want to lie to his dearest friend, either, especially not when Hector can read him so easily. Lying and knowing that Hector can tell he’s lying… hurts so unspeakably much, Eliwood would rather not face him at all if he had the choice. But he has to face him; if not tonight, the next time he goes to Hector, unless he plans on never seeing Hector again. That would be another pain too unbearable for him to fathom. Eliwood wishes like he has countless times before that he had never been foolish enough to fall in love with someone he isn’t allowed to have, wishes that he had been able to sever these feelings as soon as they were realized.

 

“Tonight” comes far too quickly for Eliwood. Having the whole day to think about a reasonable reasoning still was too little, evident in the fact that Eliwood is now hovering by the entrance of Hector’s tent, unable to will enough confidence to move the flap and take the step inside. He tries to run a few last minute excuses through his mind, but none of them sound sincere enough for his liking. His two goals for tonight--giving Hector the answer he deserves and not revealing his feelings to Hector--counteract with each other, leaving Eliwood with no options. As he readies himself to enter, he hopes that Hector will already be asleep, so he’ll have an excuse to put this off for another time, even though the future Eliwood would doubtfully be more prepared for such an encounter.

Hating how this spikes his pulse so, he takes one last deep breath before stepping inside. To his misfortune, Hector--the man who has been haunting, plaguing, cursing his mind all day--is wide awake and clearly expecting him. He doesn’t greet Eliwood as he approaches the bed. His eyes tell Eliwood that he’s been troubled by this the whole day, too.

Eliwood swallows, the air becoming too thick for him. “I suppose I should change your bandages,” he says awkwardly.

“Lyn already took care of that,” Hector says. “Right before you got here.”

_Why am I here then?_ Eliwood would ask if he didn’t know damn well why. “Straight to the point, huh,” he mumbles. He wonders if Lyn is aware of their scheduled talk.

“You know it,” Hector says. “Take a seat.”

Eliwood is reminded of similar scenes from adolescence, where he was called to his father’s study on multiple occasions and told the same words right before being scolded. He obediently takes a seat.

Hector is sitting up on the bed, facing Eliwood. “Did you get your thoughts together?” he asks.

“Do you want the honest answer?” Eliwood says, gaze flickering around the room.

Hector snorts. “Preferably,” he says. “Why are you so tense?” he asks, glancing up and down Eliwood’s form. “Relax a bit. We’re friends, you know? I’m dragging you here to get you past whatever--” he waves his hand through the air, unable to think of a polite way of phrasing so going instead with “--dumbass shit is stressing you out. Not to make you feel guilty.”

“Wow, thanks,” Eliwood says in a monotone voice, though he has to admit, Hector’s improper personality does help calm him down. Letting out a breath, slowly, he says, “Sorry, it’s just… it’s not an easy thing for me to say.”

“Just say it,” Hector says. “You know what it is, right?”

A hesitant pause. Eliwood nods.

“So? What’s wrong then?”

No response.

“On a scale from 1 to 10, how embarrassing is it?” Hector prompts.

He considers. “A solid 9.”

Hector whistles. “Impressive. I was guessin’ like a 7 at most.”

Eliwood groans. “Asshole. This isn’t a game.”

“Right, yeah,” he says. “My bad.”

As a distraction, Eliwood twiddles his thumbs. He doesn’t know how to say the words he needs to say. He’s certain that, no matter what promptings Hector sends his way, he’ll attempt to deflect all of them reflexively, his drive to protect his secret instinctual. He finds it curious that, when faced with an enemy on the battlefield, he shows no fear, even with his life on the line, but when faced with Hector--when faced with, at worst, the death of their relationship--he’s cowering like a cornered animal.

Hector astutely senses his anxiety. Sweetly, he takes Eliwood’s fidgeting hands apart, grasping them in his own and rubbing circles in his friend’s palms with his thumbs. There’s a long pause between them, Eliwood and Hector both seeking out the right words to say.

“Hey, El,” Hector starts first, his voice the most tentative Eliwood’s ever heard it. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it lately, but do you--” he pauses, peering deeply into the Pheraen’s eyes, his stare and hands locking Eliwood in place “--like me?” The words are sudden but smooth, like a flash of soundless lightning on a rainless afternoon.

Eliwood can’t trust his hearing. “What?”

Hector doesn't break eye contact. “Do you like me?” he repeats. “And you know in what way I mean.”

Even if he had the words to respond, Eliwood highly doubts his vocal chords could function correctly in this moment. All he can manage is to stare at Hector with his mouth hanging open.

“Will you answer the question?” he asks, becoming impatient. “Or do I have to go first?”

That makes even less sense to Eliwood, because if it means what it sounds like it means--what he wants it to mean, fears it to mean--then he’ll be convinced he’s dreaming. Still, he whispers, “You go first.” His eyes fixate on Hector’s lips.

The corner of Hector’s mouth twists into a smile. “As you wish.” He closes the distance between them then, bridging the gap between their bodies through the contact of their lips.

Stunned to a standstill, Eliwood can’t reciprocate, forgetting how to think, to breathe, to move. Everything’s happening too fast, too surreally for him to process, where moments before he was wondering how to tell Hector he likes him, and now--without any confession even happening, really--their lips were pressed together. When his sense returns, he pushes Hector back, minimally, dumbly asking, “What are you doing?”

“Kissing you,” Hector responds matter-of-factly, though in a husky voice. The gaze Hector holds Eliwood in imitates his stare from days before, the unreadable one, from when they were in the bath. “Kinda thought it was obvious.” He kisses a starstruck Eliwood again, spinning the Pheraen’s mind around even more. “You’re an even bigger idiot than I thought,” Hector whispers into Eliwood’s mouth as he breaks apart for but a moment.

In the brief pause, Eliwood--barely functioning--says, “Since when did you think I was an idi--”

Hector kisses him again, swallowing his words. “Since you started actin’ like one,” he answers between kisses, pulling Eliwood closer. “Shooting me lustful looks--” his hands leave Eliwood’s face, snaking downward “--but not noticin’ how I’ve been lookin’ at you.”

Eliwood’s mind, face, everything is on fire, especially where Hector touches him. As Hector’s hands slip under his shirt, sneaking up his back, Eliwood gasps and pulls his face away. “W-wait,” he stutters, Hector’s kisses moving to his neck. “Hector. Let’s think about this.”

“Believe me,” Hector says against the skin of Eliwood’s neck, “I’ve thought about this a lot.”

_I have, too_ , Eliwood wants to say, wants to succumb to the desires resonating in his body, telling him to melt into Hector’s touch, to kiss Hector with equal passion, to feel Hector’s body the way Hector is feeling his.

But he doesn’t. Placing his hands on Hector’s shoulders, firmly, he says in the clearest voice he’s used all evening, “Hector. Stop.”

Respecting his serious tone, Hector leans back so his eyes can lock with Eliwood’s, his hands halting but not retracting. The gaze that meets Hector--sad, dismal, worried--is the one that Eliwood has worn all week, except now it’s tinged with a bit of something else, too.

Hector grimaces. “Don’t look at me like that,” he says gently, not sure why Eliwood’s still gloomy. Hector hasn’t rejected him, quite obviously--what else could be the matter?

Eliwood sighs, pinching his nose. “Should I just not look at you at all then?” he asks, defeated by his own inability to control his worrisome nature, throwing Hector off even more.

With sincerity filling his eyes, he says, “That would be even worse.”

Eliwood finds himself unable to look away, the words his friend has said repeating in cycles in his head.

“Why are you so hesitant?” he asks. He tugs Eliwood closer once more, pulling the Pheraen into his lap, his impatience blossoming as kisses on Eliwood’s neck.

“W-we shouldn't…” he says, becoming increasingly distracted by the kisses nearing his face. “This isn’t right.” Despite Eliwood’s words, he tilts his head upward to give Hector a better range to explore.

Not liking that answer, Hector scrapes his teeth across his neck. A gasp comes from the man in his lap, hands grasping at his shoulders, neither pushing away nor pulling closer. “It’s not wrong, either,” he counters, bringing his mouth to Eliwood’s ear, his voice low. “It just is. You can just let it be.”

Eliwood finds it hard to respond with Hector now planting kisses along his jawline. “We can’t, especially not--” he shudders from another scrape of Hector’s teeth against his skin “--especially not as who we are… our families, our positions…”

Hector realizes, suddenly, what’s causing Eliwood’s reluctance. He’d sigh if his mouth wasn’t preoccupied.

He continues, “We’re supposed to--”

“Who gives a damn about what we’re ‘supposed’ to do?” Hector growls. “Since when has that been a concern of mine?”

A pause. “I care,” Eliwood says. “Or at least, I’m really freaked out about it.”

Finally, Hector pulls back, looking at the man in his lap carefully. He asks, “About what people would say?” Hector admittedly hadn’t thought so far ahead.

“Yes,” he answers. “But mostly how this… relationship wouldn’t be able to…” He trails off.

“Last?” Hector fills in.

A nod.

Hector sighs. “It’ll last,” he promises. “We’ve been friends for so long already.” He brings his lips back to Eliwood’s skin, soothing him without words. “Eliwood,” he whispers, kissing a trail toward Eliwood’s mouth, “you want this, right?”

There’s no response other than Eliwood pressing closer to him, his hands clinging to, twisting in Hector’s shirt.

“You want me, right?” he asks, eyes lidded, lips now a breath away from Eliwood’s own.

Eliwood meets his gaze, pupils dilated. “More than you can imagine,” he admits, his voice shooting desire down Hector’s spine.

“I think I can imagine just fine,” Hector replies lowly, “if it’s anything like how I want you right now.”

He can feel Eliwood shudder in response. They kiss again, this one initiated by Eliwood, whose hands finally roam the man beneath him uninhibited, feeling Hector to his heart’s desire.

As he watches Eliwood become undone on top of him, he remarks, “Who was it that said I wasn’t charming again?”

Eliwood smiles against his lips. “Who says I’m charmed?” he says, his voice airy.

Hector laughs, the vibrations running through the man on top of him. “If this is how you act without being charmed, I’d love to see you once you are.”

Eliwood--after pulling on Hector’s lower lip with his teeth, gently so as not to break the skin, and letting go--whispers, “Seduce me, then.”

Hector groans in pleasure, his words and his touch enticing him; he’s certain he’s the one being seduced. “If you insist!” he whispers, capturing Eliwood’s lips in a deep kiss, rendering him speechless save for the soft sighs and shy moans he releases into Hector’s mouth.

The Ostian feels his friend’s--his _lover’s_ \--noises reverberate throughout his own body, present in the heightening of his pulse, the eagerness of his movements, the tightening of his pants. He’d be embarrassed about the last one if he couldn’t feel Eliwood’s own pushing against his thigh. With his hands under Eliwood’s shirt, he feels his back--the dip of his spine, the hills of his shoulder blades, the muscles beneath his skin--before lifting the shirt upward. In sync, Eliwood readjusts, taking the shirt off the rest of the way before moving onto Hector’s own, getting the cloth out of the way of him and what he desires.

Eliwood’s rough hands are careful against Hector’s skin, but their hunger is apparent in the way they discover every inch of Hector’s abdomen, chest, body, leaving nothing unloved. His trepidations from before, while still present, are at the back of the young lord’s mind as he pursues what-- _who_ \--he’s longed to have, to touch, to taste, letting himself live like Hector does, without worrying what others will think or what he “should do” as royalty, even if for just this moment, this night. All he thinks now is Hector, Hector, _Hector_. He’s breathless as the object of his affection kisses him, shivering as the other man’s hands move up his chest, brushing against skin no one has ever touched before. This is like a scene out of his dreams, but he knows it’s not; it’s too vivid, too sensational.

Hector, hardly able to contain himself, devours Eliwood, savoring the way he tastes on his tongue. He wishes to touch Eliwood more, to lift him, pull him, to lay him on the bed and--

But he can’t, not with his injury. The most he can do is press their bodies together, letting his mouth and hands loose across the expanse of Eliwood’s body. “Help me with my pants,” he says, aching to be free of them.

Eliwood takes Hector’s pants off slowly, teasingly sliding his hands down the Ostian’s thighs, calves, ankles, smiling up at Hector all the while. Pants off, he stands, removing his own before returning to his place on top of Hector. With both of them in only their boxers, there’s even less separating them now, their crotches tantalizingly close to each other.

“How are we doing this?” Eliwood asks, his uncertainty and his sex drive playing tug-of-war with his actions. His arms are wrapped around Hector’s shoulders.

Hector’s hands waste no time caressing Eliwood’s newly-uncovered skin, running up his thighs, gripping them as he drags Eliwood closer. “I don’t care,” he responds. “I just wanna touch you.” One hand encroaches on the other man’s underwear, slipping under the hem and cupping his ass. The other one heads toward the front of the boxers, placing slight pressure on the front, against Eliwood’s bulge. He fingers at the hem. “Can I?” he asks.

Eliwood, whose chin rests on Hector’s shoulder, face burning, mouth open in a soundless gasp, responds with a wispy, “Yes. _Please_ , yes.”

Not wasting a second, Hector reaches into his companion’s boxers and pulls out his cock. Eliwood whines at the contact, the noise going directly into Hector’s ear. The Ostian shudders, his own member begging for attention.

As he strokes Eliwood, he says, “Touch me, too, if you’ve got nothing better to do.”

Blinded by arousal, the Pheraen’s hands shake as he reaches toward Hector, his fingers wrapping around his cock. Hector breathes in deeply, Eliwood’s scent filling his nose as he does.

“Faster,” he whispers, and Eliwood obliges.

They sit like that--with nothing but their hot breaths, low moans, and excited hands between them--until Eliwood chokes up, whispering, “I-I’m about to…”

Hector understands, overwhelming Eliwood as he picks up his pace, sending his partner over the edge, his cum shooting onto Hector’s front. Hector kisses him as he orgasms, collecting Eliwood’s unbridled moans in his mouth.

A moment passes. Breaking the kiss, Eliwood lays weakly against Hector, their chests pressed together, their scents mixing. His hand stroking Hector’s erection has stopped, distracted by his own orgasm, the member still hard in his grip.

“Help me lie down,” Hector whispers, his back becoming as stiff as his cock.

Eliwood, mind electrocuted, barely comprehends the request, blinking slowly at Hector before slipping off the other man and assisting him. With Hector now on his back and Eliwood’s thoughts catching up to the present, he takes note of his cum on Hector’s body, embarrassed. “I’ll… get a towel for… that,” he says apologetically, eyes scanning the room.

“Take care of _this_ first,” Hector grunts, his arousal aching at the loss of Eliwood’s touch.

Leaving the towel for later, he rejoins Hector, seating himself on the bed between the other man’s legs. He takes in the view--Hector, lying before him, legs splayed, naked, watching him with yearning eyes, fully erect. “You look really good like this,” he admits, taking a moment to drag his hands down Hector’s sides, admiring him.

“Yeah?” the other man grunts, shooting Eliwood an impatient glare. “Bet I’ll look even better when you finally make me cum.”

Eliwood laughs. “I’m getting there, I’m getting there.”

Silently, he agrees with Hector’s assessment, returning his hand to the Ostian’s cock with fresh curiosity. As his strokes hasten, Hector’s head falls back on the bed, eyes closing as he slowly approaches his orgasm.

Staring down at the cock in his grasp, Eliwood’s own arousal returns. A thought comes to him, and he speaks up. “I want to try something,” he says, “but you have to keep your eyes closed.”

Confused but eager, Hector consents.

Gathering his will, he leans toward the upright cock, hesitating moments before he drags his tongue up the shaft in one slow, agonizing motion, taking the head in his mouth at the end.

“Oh my _god_ , Eliwood,” Hector moans, his legs tightening around his lover, pulling him closer. “You’re not lettin’ me look while you do _this?_ ”

For obvious reasons, Eliwood can’t respond. He bobs his head, hand still stroking the part of the member he can’t quite swallow. By doing so, he steals the air from Hector, who finds himself involuntarily bucking up into Eliwood, who holds him down with his free arm. True to his word, Hector is a sight to see, coming undone beneath Eliwood, his hands twisting the sheets by his head, mouth gasping from the flicks of Eliwood’s tongue, head thrown back, muscles prominent and glistening.

Unable to give a proper warning, he cums, shooting into Eliwood’s mouth. Eliwood, not appreciating this, lifts his head away, only to have the remainder land on his face.

Hector breathes heavily, recollecting himself after the impact his orgasm had on his body. “That was--” he reaches for Eliwood blindly, his eyes still closed “--really good. Can I open my eyes now?”

“ _Definitely not_ ,” Eliwood says, conscious of the cum on his face. He stumbles off the bed, rejecting the offer from Hector’s arm as he tries to find a towel for both of them. Swiftly wiping his face, he returns to clean off Hector with another rag. “You can open them now,” he says as he discards both of the towels.

Still enjoying his post-orgasm high, Hector reaches for Eliwood once more, sweetly tugging him onto the bed to lie with him. “Next time you do that,” he says, voice rough, spent, “you haveta let me look.” He brings his hand to Eliwood’s face, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

Heart buzzing at the words ‘next time,’ Eliwood responds, “It’s too embarrassing…”

“‘Embarrassing,’” Hector scoffs. “It’s fucking sexy as hell is what it is.”

“How would you know?” he teases. “You didn’t see it.”

“I have a vivid imagination.”

They lie there peacefully, arms lazily wrapped around each other, Eliwood’s face buried comfortably into Hector’s shoulder. Pleasantly warm both emotionally and physically, Eliwood starts kissing the skin before his lips, making a path from Hector’s shoulder to the middle of his neck.

Reciprocating, Hector presses his thigh in between Eliwood’s legs, rubbing against his boxers. “Are you ready for a second round?” he asks, taking note of the hardness he feels against his leg.

Cock twitching, Eliwood replies, “Of course.”

Eagerly, Hector strips his lover of his boxers, tossing the garment unceremoniously onto the floor, his own following soon after. They resume their free-roaming of each others bodies, this time with even less separating them. Hector is intent on feeling up Eliwood’s ass while the Pheraen’s hands travel everywhere they can reach.

They roll, slowly, mindful of Hector’s injury, so that Eliwood is once again atop of Hector, their fronts in contact, Hector on his back. He bends his legs, holding Eliwood between them as if to say, “You’re mine.” He tilts Eliwood’s face toward his own, kissing him. It’s then that their cocks brush against each other, and they both stutter in their motions, groaning as they kiss.

Eliwood breaks away, pushing against the bed with his arms so he’s leaning above Hector. Acting on desire alone, Eliwood grinds his hips against his lover’s, pleased with the needy moans he receives in response.

“Keep going,” Hector begs, grasping Eliwood’s arms.

He does, rhythmically. All he can think is Hector, all he can feel, smell, taste, hear is Hector. He looks at the man beneath him--the moaning mess of a man, clinging onto Eliwood, begging him for more, for _harder_ and _faster_ \--and knows this is what he wants, for now and for forever. Damn what anyone else says; if he can have Hector--like this, or in any way--then he’ll be happy. His hands grab hungrily at the underside of Hector’s thighs, pulling so Hector’s cock rubs roughly into his own.

Hector moans again, loudly, having to cover his mouth with his hand. “Shit,” he breathes, voice muffled. It’s all he can manage to say.

“ _Hector_ ,” Eliwood groans, head falling, brushing against Hector’s chest. He can taste his partner against his lips, a flavor he’s become exceedingly familiar with tonight. Leaving kisses against his skin, he makes his way to one of Hector’s nipples, taking it in his mouth.

He thinks the sound that comes from Hector is more of a laugh than anything else. “Is that what you’re into?”

Driven solely by his affection for Hector, he doesn’t respond to the statement, concentrating instead on pleasuring his friend as best he can. Knowing exactly what he wants to do next, he asks, “Can I make love to you?”

His lover peers at him, his breathing a mess. “Aren’t you already?” he says, his voice rough from moaning.

Taking one of Hector’s hands, he brings it to his lips, kissing it tenderly. “You know what I mean,” he says.

The look he gives Hector is intense, burning with lust and adoration. It’s enough to melt the Ostian, rendering him unable to say the playful words on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he nods, encouraging Eliwood to go further.

“Use the lotion,” he offers, “that Lyn made. It’s on the bedside table.”

With only one thing on his mind, Eliwood reaches for the bowl immediately. He spreads Hector’s legs, pushing his own thighs beneath them as he does. It’s not until he’s lathering his fingers that a realization comes to him. “I don’t think this is its intended use…” he points out. He doubts Lyn would approve of their choices with the lotion she spent days making.

“Well,” Hector grumbles, “it’s how I ‘intend’ to use it. Now get on with it, loverboy.” He accentuates his statement with a thrust of his hips.

“Patience, Hector,” Eliwood soothes. However, his words contradict his actions as he hurriedly coats his fingers, excited to misuse the lotion if it means he can take Hector here, now, while they’re both so clearly longing for each other. Fingers prepped, he seeks out his target, carefully prodding at Hector’s hole with his middle finger before slipping it inside.

Hector is quiet then, his focus on the finger inside him.

“How does it feel?” Eliwood asks, ensuring his lover’s comfort.

A grunt. “Like there’s something in my ass.”

Eliwood rolls his eyes. “Wow, sexy,” he says, deadpan.

“My bad,” Hector responds, sarcasm seeping into his voice. “How should I respond, Lord Eliwood?”

The Pheraen laughs. “Like it’s the best thing ever!” he jokes.

Hector laughs, too, his a deep, guttural one, contrasting with Eliwood’s much less assertive laughter. A moment passes, and he quiets down, watching Eliwood thoughtfully as he works on putting in another finger. He strokes Eliwood’s hair tenderly. “It kinda is, really.”

A confused gaze turns his way. “What is what?”

“This--” Hector gestures between the two of them flippantly “--is kinda the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Eliwood feels his face heat up. Suddenly bashful, he can't respond to Hector, though he definitely shares his views. His free hand subconsciously covers his mouth as he hides his elated expression.

A comfortable silence surrounds them once again as Eliwood successfully slips his second finger inside. Hector’s hand is on his face, stroking his thumb across Eliwood’s cheek. Though he’s never said this, he finds Eliwood to be strikingly handsome, and always has. When he said those words to Eliwood just moments before, he had meant them; being in this situation with him--with the man he had thought about since their younger years--is the highlight of the Ostian’s life. To Hector, who practically lives to fight, Eliwood is worth way more than any battle he has ever fought, ever won.

With an experimental curl of his fingers, Eliwood ends all thoughts passing through Hector’s mind. Gasping, his hand grabs Eliwood’s shoulder reflexively, tightly, surprising the young lord. “Whatever you just did,” he whispers, voice choked, “do it again.”

The sight of Hector crumbling beneath him piques his arousal, and he obliges, sending more waves of pleasure through his lover’s body.

“You are,” Hector whispers, moaning, “ _so_ good with your hands.”

Eliwood smiles, lifting Hector’s hand--which is gripping his shoulder with a little too much force--and kissing it, his lips lingering. Knowing that he’s the reason Hector is reacting like this sends Eliwood’s heart aflutter. The fact that this is real, that Hector really is lying beneath him, moaning at his slightest touch… is too surreal for Eliwood to wrap his head around. This moment--with Hector watching him, feeling him, loving him and him alone--is better than any of the fantasies Eliwood has ever had about the Ostian.

He works his third finger inside, slipping in with ease and a long groan from Hector.

“I think,” Hector starts, lust-filled eyes latched onto Eliwood, “it’s time to move onto the main event.”

Eliwood agrees but says, “I want to make sure you’re…” The word “stretched” falters on his tongue. “Prepared. You wouldn’t want to get hurt, y’know?”

“I guess. There’s something else I want even more, though.” As he speaks, his hand seeks out Eliwood’s cock, pumping it slowly, enticingly.

Eliwood breathes through his teeth. “Yeah?” he says, mouth curled into a smile. “What do you want with that?”

Hector groans in annoyance. “Eliwood,” he whines. “Don’t tease me.”

Chuckling, Eliwood leans down, kissing a pouting Hector. “Tell me what you want me to do to you,” he whispers against his lover’s lips.

Brow furrowed irritably, Hector wraps his legs around Eliwood, pulling him against him. Their cocks rub into each other, and they bite back moans. His face next to Eliwood’s ear, he whispers, “I want you to fuck my brains out.”

Eliwood shudders. “Language, Hector,” he scolds, but his voice sounds more turned on than anything else. He can't deny the way the words affect him, each syllable sending electricity down his spine. His eagerness manifests as clumsiness as he backs out of Hector’s grasp to properly situate himself. Slicking his cock with more of the lotion, he positions it at Hector’s entrance. With one last glance at Hector’s posture, his injury still on his mind, he pushes inside. Eliwood moans, the tightness of his lover a new, and very welcome, sensation.

Below him, Hector makes a very curious noise before muffling it with his hand. His other hand is clutching at the sheets on the bed, his toes curling, his body twisting in pleasure. “ _Eliwood_ ,” he practically whimpers. It seems to be the only word he can think at the moment, as he repeats it multiple times after.

“ _Hector_ ,” Eliwood responds, moving his hips in a steady, unhurried rhythm as he makes sure Hector adjusts properly.

Their eyes meet, and in sync, they melt into each other, Eliwood leaning into his lover to kiss him softly, languidly, Hector responding by wrapping his arms around him, kissing him at the same slow rate. They admire each other fully, their tongues sliding together like a dance only they know the moves to.

As if compelled, Eliwood finds himself speaking as soon as the words cross his mind. “I love you.” The phrase is whispered like a secret, shared only with his dearest friend.

Though he already knew this, Hector’s heart pinches upon hearing the words. He pulls Eliwood against him, kissing him intensely before saying, “I love you, too, dumbass.”

Eliwood breathes a laugh. He would respond, but all he wants to do is kiss Hector more, and responding would take away from that. He kisses his lover once again. Hector’s hands are in his hair, rough, firm, not allowing Eliwood to leave. The rate of Eliwood’s hips has become even slower, pushing into Hector like they have all the time in the world.

For once, Hector doesn’t mind the low speed, getting lost in his appreciation of Eliwood’s entirety. He would wrap his legs around Eliwood once again if his body could handle it, but for now, he settles on simply keeping his knees bent, giving his inner legs some semblance of contact with Eliwood’s sides.

Gradually, lovingly, the Pheraen increases his pace, rolling his hips more deeply, more fully into his lover with every thrust. Hector relishes this, spreading his legs to greet Eliwood’s movements, moaning at the potency of his pleasure. Like this, they find a rhythm that suits them both, that ricochets pleasure throughout every nook and crevice of their bodies. They bask in the heat of each other and their desires, yearning both for release and for this moment to last forever, to spend eternity in the arms of the person they love. Perhaps, in a different time, a different place, where war wasn’t rampant and their lives were still intertwined so tightly with one another’s, they could exist solely in each other’s embrace, but in this world--in this battle-torn place--this moment was just that--a moment, and one they will have to keep secret, one they may scarcely be able to repeat, despite how much each of them long to.

Neither of them think of that now, not even the ever-worrying Eliwood. Instead, his mind bursts with the man he holds in his arms, who’s holding him back just as intensely, if not more so. He cannot tell if the nails he feels dragging down his back will leave marks tomorrow. A part of him hopes they do.

Both of them feel their orgasms building within them, coming too soon but not soon enough. Hector, with Eliwood’s hand now stroking his cock, overwhelmed by the barrage of acute sensations attacking his body, reaches his orgasm first, his loud moan cut off by Eliwood’s kiss. Eliwood, with Hector now moaning in his mouth, cums soon after, pulling out just in time so as not to make a mess inside of his lover. Energy drained, Eliwood collapses on top of the Ostian, both of them breathing heavily, minds peacefully blank.

“That was,” Hector says after a moment, eyes closed, exhausted, “ _really_ fucking good.”

Eliwood agrees in his head. Right now, he wants nothing more than to fall asleep where he lay, with Hector’s heartbeat in his ear and body against his.

They stay together in quiet. Eliwood has migrated to resting on his side beside Hector to take pressure off Hector’s body, facing the wall, his back to Hector. He’s trying to sleep, but his lover keeps him awake by drawing shapes on his back. Eliwood doesn’t mind. Sleep is impossible for him most nights anyway.

“Eliwood,” Hector whispers, his finger moving down Eliwood’s lower back.

Eliwood hums inquisitively.

“I’ve been thinking,” he continues, “and I decided on a tattoo that’d suit you.”

The Pheraen had forgotten that they’d even had that conversation, that one afternoon in the bath. “Yeah?” he says, clearly tired. “What?”

“Right here.” He can hear Hector’s smile in his voice as he drags his thumb across the lowest part of his back, scarcely above his ass. “‘Property of Hector of Ostia’ in bold letters.”

“I’d hit you if you weren’t an injured man,” Eliwood grumbles.

Hector laughs, his warm breath hitting Eliwood’s neck.

The Pheraen sighs, rolling his eyes. “Besides, who’d see that anyway?”

No response. Then-- “What?”

Resisting the urge to sigh once more, he explains, “You’re the only one who’s going to have me like this.”

Bashfully, Hector grins, though Eliwood doesn’t see this. He pushes his face against the back of Eliwood’s neck. “El,” he whispers happily, “you can't just say things like that so easily…”

Moving to peer at him, Eliwood gives the smiling man beside him a curious look.

Hector leans in to plant a single, soft kiss against his lips. “Devotin’ yourself to me like it’s the most natural thing in the world…” he mumbles.

Replaying his words in his head, Eliwood blushes. “Well,” he reasons, “am I wrong?”

Smile widening, Hector kisses him again.

“Just remember, you’re property of Eliwood of Pherae, too,” Eliwood says.

“Of course.” Hector wraps his arms around his lover, his dearest friend. “For eternity.”

Like that, they find solace in their embrace, soothed to sleep by the warmth resonating between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyn: *walks in the next day to find her friends naked together in bed, their clothes all over the floor, and the lotion she made suspiciously gone*  
> Lyn: *Saitama voice* OK


End file.
